Ice Cream
by Aussie73
Summary: Sequel to Little Sister. You should read that first. Rated T for safety, but probably more like K plus for now.
1. Part One

_Wow! I can't believe how many of you seemed to like my take on Mark Carter. I'd already started working on a different story (not having anticipated such a good response) when the reviews for "Little Sister" started coming in, several asking for a sequel. I had to get my other story out of my head before I could do this one — hence the delay. And I've also got two possible plot-lines bouncing around my skull. My muse is very very demanding this week._

_By the way; I have a feeling I may have goofed on Jacob's funeral. Something tells me that Mark, as the oldest child, should have received the flag. If someone would let me know either way, I'd be grateful so that I don't make the same mistake in future._

_Anyway; here is your sequel … or the first part thereof._

* * *

**Part One**

"Carter."

I frowned down at the phone. "You answer the phone weird," I pointed out.

"Thank you, big brother," she replied sarcastically. "Hold on … it's got to be after midnight there. What are you doing still up?"

The woman had a point. I loved my sleep. "Sam; it's Gracie's birthday next week. Don't suppose you'd be able to get some time off and come to San Diego?"

"I'm due some leave," Sam said, "and I'm sure the General will let me go."

"How is Jack, by the way?" I'd met the man at Dad's wake a few weeks ago and he'd instantly enchanted my daughter. As for me … I'd been surprised to find myself liking the guy — he was military and I suspected he was part of the reason Sam had broken up with my friend, Pete. But after seeing them together, I knew Pete hadn't stood a chance. It was just good that Sam had seen it before going through with the marriage.

"I don't know," Sam replied. "I haven't seen him since I transferred out of the Springs."

"You've left Colorado?" That surprised me. Sam had spent the last eight years there, doing … who knew what in that mountain. Something told me that you'd normally have to carry her out to get her to leave.

"A couple weeks ago. I'm on temporary detached duty at R&D in Nevada."

I chuckled. "So … run into any aliens, did ya?" I teased. She'd gone through a stage when she was a kid of believing the conspiracy theories about Area 51, and I never got tired of teasing her about it.

She returned the laugh. "Shut up, Mark," she said casually.

We talked a little more, making the arrangements for next week, then I made a show of yawning loudly. "Better go, Sam; I'm pooped," I said.

"Okay." She sounded amused again — and at my expense.

"See you next week, kiddo."

I put the phone down with a wide grin at her indignant squawk, then dialed the number for Cheyenne Mountain. After numerous redirections, someone barked out a grouchy sounding "O'Neill; what!" Huh. Maybe that surname thing was a military thing.

"Uh … General O'Neill. Hi; it's Mark. Sam's brother."

"Oh!" The man sounded surprised, then a bit abashed. "Sorry, Mark. Just spent the last hour screaming at some Pentagon windbag; thought it was him again."

"Ah. Well, anyway; it's Gracie's birthday next week," I said. "I know it's short notice, but I … she'd love to see you again."

"Well, I do have an ice cream date to keep, don't I?" the man said, now sounding extremely happy. I heard him flipping through something — likely a calendar. "Can't make it on Sunday — sitrep with the Prez — but I could fly down on Monday."

I thought I was about to swallow my own tongue. The President. "President Hayes?" I squeaked, then cleared my throat. "Our president?" I asked in a more manly — I hoped — tone.

"Yeah," Jack said, sounding like he was smirking. "The big Kahuna. So … Monday okay?"

"That's … uh, that's fine," I said. "I'll give you my cell number — call us when you know your flight time and I'll come pick you up."

"Great," the older man replied. "What is it now?" he barked suddenly.

"What?"

"Not you," he said, sounding distracted. "Walter?"

"I have the President for you on Line One," the mysterious Walter said, sounding nervous.

Good Lord; the President of the United States was calling Jack O'Neill! Who the hell was this guy? Certainly something more than the simple soldier he portrayed.

"Crap," Jack muttered. "Mark; gonna have to go. What's your cell number?"

I gave it to him and we wished each other a hurried goodbye before I hung up.

"What are you up to, Mark Jeremiah Carter?"

I winced at that. I'd always hated my middle name. "Nothing," I said, aiming my best innocent look at my accuser.

Unfortunately, Karen had known me too long to buy it. "You're not match-making again, are you?" she said.

"C'mon, Karen. You're the one who always says Sam needs to get out more," I said.

Karen looked at me shrewdly then put her hands to my head, sliding them into my hair. Evil, evil woman. She knew I loved a head massage. "Yes …?" she queried, pressing her fingertips into the points that would make me spill State secrets — if I had any.

"You saw them together; a blind man could tell they're in love," I mumbled, seriously distracted by her skillful fingers. Wicked woman. My head slumped forward to rest on her shoulder.

"Yes," she agreed cautiously, massaging away, "but doesn't the Air Force have rules about that sort of thing?"

I smiled smugly. "Yeah, but Sam's in Nevada. They're not in the same chain of command."

A couple of weeks after Dad's wake, I'd been in the Springs visiting Sam to help her tie up Dad's affairs when I'd bumped into Doctor Jackson and Murray. I'd subtly … or maybe not so subtly … directed the conversation toward Sam and Jack.

Daniel had looked at me narrowly then had sighed. "God; they're so in love, it's almost painful to see," he'd told me. "They're so loyal to the Air Force, to what we do, they're willing to deny themselves their best chance for happiness." He grinned then. "But they were definitely flirting when we were at Jack's cabin."

I didn't even bother saying that deep space radar telemetry couldn't be that important. These people really needed to work on their cover story.

"Daniel Jackson," Murray interrupted, "Colonel Carter and O'Neill are mature people. They won't appreciate interference in their lives."

Daniel looked slightly shame-faced. I didn't. "Hey, she's my baby sister," I said. "If I can't interfere in her life, what's the point of being a big brother?"

Murray just shook his head and raised an eyebrow. The guy was only my age, but he acted like someone much older.

Undaunted by the tilted eyebrow, I managed to wheedle more information out of Daniel. He was reluctant to meddle in Sam and Jack's lives himself, but he didn't seem to mind giving me ammunition to do so. Pretty fine line he wasn't crossing.

* * *

**Several days later**

I stood in the arrivals lounge, waiting for Jack to arrive. He'd called and said he'd had to fly to DC for an urgent meeting, so would be a bit late. As a sea of humanity surged past me, I heard an unmistakable voice. "Hey!"

Oh, wonderful. Steven Francks. One of my best friends, a straight shooter and a guy I'd trust with my life, but he loved to act camp. "Hey," I said.

"How's Karen?" he asked. "And not forgetting the rug-rats, of course."

"They're good," I told him, scanning the milling crowd for Jack. Thank goodness he was tall; he'd stand out. "How're you?"

"Oh, great …," Steven said absently, his eyes going off someplace else. "Oh, I love a man in uniform," he added breathily. "Sweet man candy at six o'clock."

I rolled my eyes. "God, Steven; I'd swear you're too gay to function!"

He knew me better than to take offense. Besides, he took pride in playing up the stereotypes. He just shrugged his shoulders, then pointed toward the unsuspecting man who'd grabbed his attention.

Big surprise.

I allowed a small evil smirk to surface. Jack was about as Alpha male as they came, and he was military to boot. This could be a fun few minutes. I raised my hand to wave him over. "Ohhh, honey," Steven drawled. "Silver fox heading right this way."

"Hey, Mark," Jack said, taking off his cap and tucking it under his arm, then removing the sunglasses.

"Hey," I replied, putting my hand out to grip his. "Gracie's gonna be thrilled to see you."

He frowned. "You didn't tell her, did you?" he said. "I might not have been able to make it." He got a bleak look on his face all of a sudden. "I hate letting kids down."

"Uhh … hello!" Steven said impatiently.

"Right; sorry." I tried desperately to hide the smirk. "Steven Francks; meet Brigadier General Jack O'Neill."

Evil I know, but I'm a Carter. If there's one thing I learned from my Dad, it's how to yank someone's chain.

I thought Steven was going to drown in his own drool. "Brigadier General?" he breathed. "You look so young to be so … powerful."

Jack gave me a look that promised a swift painful retribution, but put a hand out to Steven. "Nice to meet you," he offered.

Steven looked at him, drew some unspecified conclusion, and decided to drop the 'camp boy' routine. "I understand you work with the gorgeous Sam," he said with a teasing grin at me.

Jack shook his head. "We used to work together," he said, "till she transferred out. And I'll be moving on myself soon — the Pentagon."

"The Pentagon?" Steven stuffed a hand into his pocket and eyed the older man. "You don't strike me as the politicking type." I'd forgotten how perceptive he could be.

Jack snickered. "You got that right," he said. "But when the Chief of Staff tells you to move to DC, you move to DC."

"Yeah," Steven agreed. "My dad was Air Force, too; so I know what that's like."

"Ah." Brigadier General Jack O'Neill; king of the monosyllable.

Jack took his bag off the carousel, pausing briefly to smile at the little girl making kissy faces at him, then said, "Well … let's go."

"It was nice to meet you, Jack," Steven said. "You going to be in town long?"

"About a week," Jack said, "I hope."

"Well … have a nice vacation," Steven offered, "and maybe I'll see you before you leave."

"Yeah. Maybe." Jack clasped hands briefly with Steven once again. "By the way, Steven; quit flirting."

Steven chuckled. "It was worth a go," he said. "Maybe the lovely Sam is more your taste, hmmm?"

I didn't say anything. Why should I, when Steven was inadvertently doing all the work for me?

"Yeah, probably," Jack mumbled, then a slight flush rode up his face.

I knew it.

"Well … good luck with that Jack," Steven said. "Have a good stay."

"Thanks, Steven," Jack said, recovering from his little faux pas.

Steven strolled away, and Jack turned to me. The dark eyes narrowed. "You did that on purpose."

"Yep."

"Mark …"

"Yep."

"Dead meat."

"Yep."

* * *

_I'd just watched "Enemies" and considered how well Jacob had yanked Jack's chain after the mothership exploded. Then I thought "like father, like son" perhaps? And I hope Jack didn't come off as some raging homophobe. I'd like to think that with everything he's seen, he'd be less bigoted than how people from the military are usually portrayed._


	2. Part Two

_Big honkin' "thank you" to Matt1969 — the US is so confusing with its huge size and what seems like 400 time zones. There are definite advantages to living in a dinky country like England._

* * *

**Part Two**

We pulled up outside Gracie's school and got out of the car, Jack looking around with a mixture of pleasure and sadness. I had the feeling he was remembering Charlie. "JACK!" my daughter screamed.

And a small blonde hellion came flying toward us at a hundred miles an hour. Jack caught her mid-flight and scooped her up into a giant hug. "My best girl," he said with a huge grin on his face.

I chuckled. It had to be illegal to look that pleased with yourself.

He flushed a little. "It's been a long time since anyone was so overjoyed to see me," he said.

Gracie twined her arms around his neck and perched happily on his hip. Then she delivered a smacking kiss to his cheek. "Hi, Daddy," she added, leaning precariously out from Jack's arms to give me a kiss.

"So … Gracie; I understand you've got a birthday this week," Jack said, returning the smacking kiss. "You know what you want?"

Gracie bounced against him, then removed his Air Force cap from his head, settling it onto her bubbly curls. "Yeah. Ya gonna buy me somethin'?" she queried.

"Already have … A-ah! And you can wait till your birthday, little miss!" he teased. "No pouting, no big blue eyes."

"Meanie." And she didn't even attempt to pout. God, he was good.

He blew a loud raspberry into her neck. "Yep," he said with an all-new smirk. Was this #3? "Known your Aunt Sam too long to fall for that routine."

Gracie bounced against him again. "Aunt Sam's here for my birthday too!" she said excitedly. _Big mouth._

"Cool, huh?" Jack said casually, though I could tell he was startled. "You think she'll wanna join us for ice cream?"

"Yeah … but she likes Jell-O better."

"And blue Jell-O at that." Jack pulled a face. "Your Aunt Sam is very, very odd."

"Blue's yucky," Gracie agreed. "I like red best."

Jack grinned and swung her up onto his shoulders, gripping her little legs firmly. I felt a twinge of envy. I hadn't been able to do that for a couple of years, and had put it down to Gracie getting bigger. But Jack was at least a decade older than me, and he made nothing of Gracie's weight. Perhaps it was time I hit the gym or something. "I knew I loved you for a reason, Gracie Rose Carter," he exclaimed.

We headed back to the station wagon and Jack casually tumbled my daughter into the back seat, making her giggle again. What was it about this man that made my usually shy daughter so outgoing?

* * *

"Uh, Mark," Jack said uneasily as we pulled up to my house, "Carter does know I'm here, doesn't she? I don't want to make her uncomfortable. And I don't want to impose." 

"No imposition," I said, skating over the question. "I invited you, remember?" Besides, Sam could use a bit of discomfort. She was always so … in control. She was satisfied, she was content. But she didn't seem particularly happy. Jack teased her, didn't seem over-awed by her giant brain, nagged her about her lifestyle. The man was good for her.

We got out of the car, and I ushered Gracie and Jack forward into the house. "Sam; we're back!" I called.

"Okay!" she said from the living room.

We followed the sounds and came across my little sister. Playing on the X-box with Michael. My little sister, so correct and proper. My little sister, wearing her favorite 'old lady' bathrobe, complete with giant Eeyore slippers. "Hey," she said, not even glancing up from the screen.

I chanced a look at Jack. His eyes were dancing with laughter and he wore a smirk a mile wide. "Carter; whatcha doin'?" he asked casually.

"Nothing, sir; just …". Then the blonde head shot round. "Sir?" she squeaked, her eyes becoming impossibly huge, scrambling to her feet.

"Hey, Carter," the man replied. "Lookin' good." He gestured to the fuzzy things on her feet.

She went pink, but laughed. A few years ago, she would have bristled or made some combative comeback. She was more relaxed than I ever remembered her being. "Thanks, sir," she replied. "You know me; always primping and preening." Then she looked over at me, eyes narrowed. "You could have warned me, Mark," she said.

"What; and miss seeing how big your eyes could get?" I teased.

"Mark invited me for Gracie's birthday, Carter," Jack said. "I can find a hotel if that's going to be a problem."

"God, no sir!" Sam said. "It'll be good to have you here." She glanced quickly over at me, then added, "I've missed you."

Jack seemed to know when not to tease my little sister. "Yeah; missed you too, Carter," he said casually, but sincerely.

* * *

Eyes pleaded with my little sister. 

Eyes that strayed between her face and the cake she was making. Sam wasn't the greatest cook, but for some reason, she could make a vanilla pound cake to die for.

"No," she said firmly.

"Not fair." I could practically see the pout emerging.

"You can wait until the party," she said.

Then another pair of eyes joined the first pair in the pleading stakes. "Aunt Sa-am," the owner of the second set of eyes wheedled.

"You heard me," Sam said. She could be just as strict with Gracie as she was with Jack. Turns out the man had an incredibly sweet tooth and the voracious appetite of a teenager. And a license to kill. Bad combination. But Sam wasn't intimidated — she'd known the man far too long. "Anyway, sir; didn't Doctor Brightman advise you to start cutting back on the cake?"

Jack shifted his eyes guiltily. "Ahhh, what she doesn't know won't hurt me, Carter," he said.

"Maybe so, sir, but it doesn't mean you're getting any of this cake yet," Sam said.

"Fine." Jack put his tongue out at her, then swooped on my daughter, throwing her over his shoulder. "Gracie; I think we should go get ice cream … and leave mean Aunt Sam behind. Whatcha think?"

"Yeah!" she agreed enthusiastically, giggling in her prone position.

Jack looked over at me. "Whoops. Is that okay, Mark?" he queried.

I seized gladly on the opportunity of getting rid of them for a few hours. In some ways, Jack was just another kid. A giant kid, but a kid nonetheless. "Of course," I said. "We can get the party ready while you're out."

The man looked at me, then smirked. "You want us out of the kitchen, huh?" he said.

I hadn't realized I was so transparent. "Yeah," I agreed.

"Okay," Jack said agreeably. He turned, Gracie still hanging over his shoulder, and headed out of the kitchen. "Michael!" he hollered.

"What?"

"We're going for ice cream. You in?"

"Yeah!"

I heard Michael thundering down the stairs, then heard a muffled scream. I looked out of the window and saw that Michael was now dangling over Jack's other shoulder. Oh yeah; definitely time I hit the gym.

* * *

"Mark." Sam turned to face me, wielding the spatula almost like a weapon. "What are you up to?" 

I didn't even bother to ask what she meant. "Sam; I invited him here for Gracie's birthday," I said. "You saw how much she loved him."

"Oh." She looked taken aback, then nodded her head. "Of course. General O'Neill's always been really good with kids. I'm not surprised Gracie's taken to him." Then her eyes narrowed. "I'm surprised you like him so much, though," she added.

"Me too," I replied candidly. "But he's a good man, with a warped sense of humor. You know me, Sam; I like warped." Mollified somewhat, she took a sip of her diet soda. "And the fact that you're in love with him has nothing to do with it," I added in a would-be casual tone.

She coughed and the soda came shooting out of her nose. My little sister. So graceful, elegant and composed. "What?" she jerked out, grabbing a tissue and dabbing at her face.

"Yeah," I said. "It's pretty obvious really."

She scowled, then her shoulders sagged. "You don't think he knows, d'you?" she said, her eyes wide.

"Don't think so," I said, then my brain caught up with me. "You really are in love with him? Not just 'love him' as a comrade, a brother, a friend."

"Mark …," she growled, then she sighed. "I love General O'Neill. And … I'm in love with him."

I snickered. "You're in love with the man, and you're calling him General O'Neill?"

She shrugged. "Years of habit," she said. "It was easier to hide behind the ranks when we were at the Mountain."

"But now you're not," I said. "You're not in the same chain of command anymore. And even if you were, you wouldn't get court-martialed for calling him Jack while you're on leave."

"Yeah; I guess," she said. "But when I go back to the Mountain, we'll be right back to square one."

Her eyes looked a little misty, and I didn't want to see that. I enjoyed getting a rise out of her, but I didn't want to make her cry. Sam didn't cry much, so when she did you knew it was serious.

* * *

The door opened and Michael and Gracie barreled in, dragging Jack in by his hands. "Geez, slow down, you two; I'm an old man, you know!" Jack grumbled, but the man didn't fool me; you could see how much he was enjoying the attention. 

Gracie gave him one of her neck-hugs. "You're not old, Uncle Jack," she said. _Uncle Jack?_ "You're just … old-er." My little diplomat.

"Yeah," Michael agreed. "Old guys don't play street hockey."

Did that mean I was an old man? "Street hockey?" I inquired.

"Yeah," Jack said. "We … ah … ran into some of Michael's friends in the park after our ice cream and next thing you know …".

"You're great at it, Uncle Jack," Michael said.

"Hold on," I said. "Michael; you didn't have your skates with you. How did you play?"

Michael shrugged. "Borrowed David's after he had to go home," he said.

Okay … that answered that one. But Jack couldn't possibly have borrowed skates from the pee wee tribe. I looked over at him and he grinned. "Didn't skate," he said, then lowered his tone slightly. "Thought I should give myself a bit of a handicap."

"Oh. That was nice of you."

He shifted and muttered something incoherent. Jack seemed to have no problem being thoughtful, but he got embarrassed when anyone tried to bring it up.

"Street hockey, sir?" Sam queried, sparing him any further embarrassment. "How old are you again?"

He turned a slow smile onto her, and she blushed. "So not tellin', Carter," he said softly. "Gotta keep a little mystery, ya know."

"You said you remembered President Kennedy getting shot," Michael said. "So you were probably like … ten. That'd make you … fifty two now." My little math whiz. Certainly didn't take after me.

"Geez." Jack's eyes widened. "Okay; ya got me, kid. I'll be fifty three soon." He threw a twinkling glance to my sister. "Told ya I was an old man, Carter."

She looked over at me and I winked at her in encouragement. She went over to him and put a hand on his cheek. "Oh, I've always liked older men, sir," she breathed, then headed out of the kitchen. "C'mon, kids; we've got a party to get ready for!" she added loudly.

I snickered silently at the dumbstruck look on Jack's face. One thing everyone should know about the Carter breed; we are evil.


	3. Part Three

_Here you go, folks; a new part! Hope this part is also "squee-worthy" (thank you pkgirl for that expression. I love it!)._

* * *

**Part Three**

"Hey, squirt!" Jack said, catching Gracie mid-flight as she dashed in from bidding all her friends goodbye. "Have a good time, huh?"

"Yeah!" Gracie said, her cheeks red from all the running she'd been doing. She looked at him then put her hand to his cheek, which sported a fine bruise. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Uncle Jack," she added. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, honey," he said, kissing her cheek. "Just not as young as I used to be."

Gracie looked baffled. "Nobody is," she pointed out.

Jack gave a short laugh. "Never thought about it like that," he said. "But I'm probably getting too old for rough-housing with all you rug-rats."

Gracie yawned and snuggled up against his leg, hugging him round the waist. "You're not old, Uncle Jack," she insisted. All the excitement of the party had gotten to her.

"You really are my best girl," Jack said, sitting down and lifting her onto his lap. She cuddled happily into him and gave another yawn. "I'm glad you liked your present," he added. "I've never bought something for a beautiful girl before."

She delivered a smacking kiss to his cheek. "I love him," she said, pointing to the giant cuddly toy Roswell alien that was bigger than her. "But you're my best present, Uncle Jack," she said around a monster yawn. "Love you," she mumbled sleepily.

Jack cleared his throat quickly and Karen and Sam both gave suspicious-sounding sniffles. "I love you too, baby," he said. He got up and lifted her onto his hip. "Want me to tuck you into bed?"

"Uh-huh," Gracie said, closing her eyes and snuggling closer into him. "Night Mommy … Daddy … Aunt Sam."

Jack walked out of the living room. "Uncle Jack!" Gracie wailed. "I forgot Thor!"

Thor? I made a mental note to find out what the hell she was reading at school as Jack made a quick 180 and grabbed the giant stuffed alien. "There you go, honey," he said, then rubbed a gentle hand over her tousled curls. "Time to hit the hay."

I heard him go up the stairs, then turned to my wife and sister. "Okay; what's with the waterworks, Sam?" I said. My sister wasn't big on crying.

She looked slightly embarrassed, then put her tongue out at me. "I was just thinking … General O'Neill's so great with kids. It seems unfair that he's alone."

"Well; you could do something about that, Sam," I pointed out in my oh-so-helpful interfering brother-slash-matchmaker way.

Then I lost my train of thought when I heard the sound of a flute. Michael had played the flute briefly at school before he'd lost interest. But now, beautiful soothing sounds floated down the stairs. I didn't recognize the melody, but it sounded vaguely Irish. I knew that Jack was Irish of course — although many generations removed from Ireland — but hadn't thought the hardened soldier had such a poetic side.

Neither had Sam by the look on her face. "Damn," she muttered, her eyes wide. "God … that's beautiful," she breathed, a dreamy look replacing the wide-eyed shock. Then she looked embarrassed by her girly moment.

Several blissful minutes later — although Sam was a scientist, she loved good music — Jack came back into the living room and seemed startled at the silence. "Hey," he said.

"That was beautiful, sir," Sam said softly. "I didn't know you could play."

Jack shrugged. "Been a while," he said. "Used to soothe Charlie with it when he had nightmares. Glad you liked it though, Carter."

"I loved it, sir," she murmured. "I'd no idea you were so talented."

"Well, my parents made me learn when I was a teenager and I just kinda kept up the habit when I was an adult," Jack said casually, although I could tell he was getting embarrassed.

* * *

The beer was cold. The steaks were rare. The conversation was … spasmodic.

"When are you going to tell her?" I asked.

Jack coughed. "Tell who what?"

"Don't play dumb, Jack; you don't pull it off that well," I retorted. "When are you going to tell Sam that you're transferring to the Pentagon and that you love her?"

Jack shrugged then his eyes went wide. Thankfully he wasn't drinking so I was spared a spit-up this time. "Uhhh … soon for the first thing and what the hell are you talking about for the second?" he said.

"I know you love her," I said casually. I'd never made any claims to subtlety. "You should tell her while you're not in the same chain of command."

"Mark … I know you're Carter's brother and you care about her," Jack growled, "but don't push me."

"Jack. I know you were Special Forces and could probably kill me in a thousand painful ways, but Sam's my sister," I said. "I pushed her out of my life for the longest time because of my stupid dumb-ass pride and I missed so much. I don't want to see the same thing happen with you and her."

Jack glared at me, then he visibly sagged into the booth. "Crap," he mumbled, taking a slug of his beer. "Even if I did tell her, when I transfer to the Pentagon, she'll be in my chain of command again."

I frowned. How did the Pentagon have a direct link to radar telemetry?

Jack saw the frown. "I'm taking overall command of NORAD, Nellis AFB, Peterson AFB and … the Groom Lake facility," he clarified.

"Big job," I commented idly. "Hold on; isn't that George Hammond's post?"

Jack smiled slightly. "Hammond's finally retiring," he said. "Wants to spend some time with Kayla and Tessa. He suggested my name to the Chief of Staff and the President to take his place. Apparently, they jumped at it."

"So, yeah; you'll be in the same chain of command when that happens," I said. "But you're not now."

"Damn, Mark; you're worse than Daniel for rambling," Jack grumbled. "If you've got a point, make it."

"There's nothing in the regs against husband and wife serving in the same chain, is there?" I asked. I knew there wasn't — thanks to several hours' intensive research I'd done with one very helpful Daniel Jackson.

Jack's eyes went wide again and I wondered briefly if the man was going to have a heart attack right in front of me. He coughed and pounded on his chest. "Christ; are you trying to kill me?" he yelped.

"I'm not saying you get married today," I soothed. "Just … talk to her soon. Then if she feels the same way" — _which she does_ — "see if she's open to marrying you within the next couple of months." I shrugged my shoulders.

Jack sighed. "You know; it's only the fact that we're in a bar that's saving you from a beating right now."

I smirked. "I knew it," I said. "Just talk to her, man. What've you got to lose?"

"She was engaged to someone else less than two months ago, for cryin' out loud," Jack muttered, taking a swig of his beer.

"Yeah; and she ended it because of you."

And now came the spit-up. Thankfully I wasn't showered. "What?" he jerked out around the wild coughing.

"You heard me; your ears don't flap over," I said, digging into my steak.

"Neither does your nose, but I could correct that," Jack said. "Yeah; we might flirt a bit, but nothing more. At least not from her side." He scowled down at the remains of his steak. "Your sister is a certified genius, a demon with a P90 and one helluva beautiful woman. No way is someone like her going to fall for someone like me."

"But Jack, sweetie, you're gorgeous too," Steven said lightly, sliding into the booth next to me.

Jack scowled but chuckled. "Thanks Steven, but yours isn't the opinion that counts. And how much of that conversation did you hear?"

"Oh, all of it," Steven said. "I was in the booth next to you, and I thought I'd scope you out for a while." He leaned over the table and patted Jack's hand. "Sweetie; have a little faith in yourself. D'you not see how people look at you?"

"Uh … no, and don't call me sweetie. I will hurt you."

Steven shivered dramatically. "Well, according to those two young women, they want to rip off all your clothes and perform scandalous sexual stunts involving chocolate mousse."

Jack went red and we looked over at the two young women. They pursed their lips and blew Jack a kiss. "Christ; they're barely out of the cradle!" he said, looking away hastily.

"Age is no barrier to a good imagination," Steven said. "You, Brigadier General Jack O'Neill, are a certified USDA-approved slice of Grade A Prime beef."

"Steven …," I warned quietly. Jack looked like he was about to die of embarrassment.

"Right," Steven said. "I'll shut up now. But you should tell the gorgeous Sam how you feel. You really want to lose her now that you're this close?"

Underneath the camp routine, Steven Francks really was a good guy. One of the best friends you could ever have. He'd been the one to help me mend my troubled relationship with Dad and Sam.

Jack studied the other man, then dropped his eyes. "She's not mine to lose," he said, but it now just sounded like a token protest.

"She could be," I said. "Even Daniel agrees."

The eyes shot back up. "You've been talking about me and Carter with Daniel?" His eyes looked nearly black. "Dammit, Mark; that's pushing it."

"Murray agrees with you," I said lamely, wondering if I should have sat nearer the door. The guy was older than me, but much fitter and he was a soldier.

"Damn interfering linguist," Jack muttered, but wore a small fond smile.

* * *

We got back to the house, pleasantly full from the steaks and a little buzzed from the beer, although Jack had a much better tolerance for alcohol than I did. I put it down to his years in the military — not wanting to be rendered vulnerable to anything.

"Hey, Sam!" Steven caroled, bouncing into the living room and scooping my sister into a bone-crushing hug.

"Steven!" Sam yelped, flinging her arms around him. They'd gone out for a few months when they were in high school but it had petered out as high school flings tended to do. In fact, Sam had helped Steven meet his last boyfriend. "Damn, it's good to see you!" she said. Then she pulled back. "Have you been drinking?" she asked.

"Ooooh, just a bit, honey," Steven said. "Mark and the Silver Fox drank a lot more than I did."

"The Silver Fox?" Sam said, then looked over at Jack. She raised an eyebrow and went slightly pink. "Yeah; I get it," she mumbled.

Steven let go of her, then dragged her over to Jack and linked their hands together. "Jack; Sam thinks you're a silver fox. Sam; Jack thinks you're one hell of a beautiful woman. Mark; you're sick of seeing them dance around each other. So, Sam and Jack; get your act together. Go make babies."

I closed my eyes, sure that I was about to see my best friend maimed in a variety of painful ways by two highly trained soldiers.

I was therefore surprised when Sam giggled. Not laughed; giggled. She looked down to where her fingers were still linked with Jack's, then said, "I think we need to talk, Jack."

Jack squeezed her fingers. "Yeah," he agreed. "Out there?" He indicated the garden.

She looked shy, then nodded. "Good idea."

They went outside and Steven and I subtly planted ourselves near one of the windows — all the better to see what was going on. "What are you two gaping at?" Karen said sternly.

"Jack and Sam are about to get their freak on," Steven declared. The man watched far too much MTV for a man his age.

"Oh; this I have to see!" Karen said, squeezing determinedly in between us.

Sam and Jack sat on a bench and began talking quietly, their hands still linked. I so wished I could read lips right now. Then Jack's hand landed on her cheek and slid into her hair as he covered her lips tenderly with his.

I looked away — I did not want to watch my little sister making out with someone. I didn't want to be in therapy for the rest of my life. But I was happy for her. And for Jack.

* * *

_Well … they're together.Should I continue? You know what to do if you want me to!_


End file.
